“You’d do well to leave it alone,” he muttered, pulling out his wallet. He rifled through the papers and pictures there until he spotted a small photo, its corners bent by time and wear. Pulling it free, he looked at the image of him and his sister sitting together on a park bench on an August afternoon. Bastian closed his eyes.
The late afternoon sunlight had warmed his bronze skin that day. Tanned so deeply, he’d looked almost Hispanic. That late in the summer, the sun wouldn’t have darkened his tan more because it couldn’t, not after countless hours spent in the swimming pool and taking long trail hikes with his Boy Scout troop. But even as Angie had smiled, Bastian had frowned.
August had had its moments of wrath, and that afternoon the sun had blazed as he and Angie had sat on the bench so their father could take a picture. His father had argued with the camera for a moment, trying to zoom in on their faces, but it had refused to cooperate at such close range.
“Damned camera,” he’d growled. He’d adjusted the lens and coerced it into action, and Bastian had heard the click and whir of the shutter as the film advanced. He’d always hated having his picture taken.
“It’s hot,” he’d complained. Sweat had beaded on his temples, and Bastian had rubbed his forehead with his left hand. Perspiration beaded under his shirt, and he’d wondered how long it would be until a spot of moisture soaked through.
“We’d get through this more quickly if you’d smile,” his father had retorted.
“How’s this?” Bastian had obliged, pasting on a fake grin.
“Damn it, Bastian. You look like a jackass. Can’t you do anything right?” his father had snarled, glaring over the camera. Bastian’s smile had died as the camera whirred again, forever capturing that moment.
“I don’t feel like taking pictures,” he’d snapped, standing.
“I said smile, dammit and I meant it.” His father had strode to him, grabbed his shirt, and shoved him onto the bench. Bastian had landed awkwardly, bruising his leg. Despite the pain, he’d smiled vacantly as though he’d already left. And he would soon. Somehow, someway, he’d get the hell out of there and never come back.
“We’re going to dinner in an hour. You’d better be back home in enough time to clean up because you need to look presentable, not like you just climbed out of a sandbox.” Satisfied, his father had turned away. He’d walked away then, leaving Angie and Bastian in the park with their bikes.
“I hate him. God, how I hate that man,” Bastian had said, glowering at his father’s retreating back.
Angie had touched his shoulder. “He doesn’t mean any of it. That’s just the way he is.”
“I can’t do anything right with him. Even my smile is wrong, Angie. I wonder which fancy restaurant we’ll be going to this time and whom we’re going to have to impress while he pretends he actually likes me. One day I’m going to leave—and I won’t look back.” He’d picked up his bike. As he’d straddled the seat he’d felt the pain burning in his leg.
“You won’t have any money or anywhere to go. Besides, I’d really miss you. I know we fight like cats and dogs sometimes, but I’d still miss you.” Angie, too, had straddled her bike. As she’d spoken, she’d stared at the ground. Her hand had trembled as she’d touched her hair, pushing a wayward strand behind her ear.
The grandfather clock struck. Bastian blinked and found himself back in Kaylee’s kitchen. He leaned forward and placed his head in his hands.
“Do you miss me, Angie? Do you ever even think of me these days?” He raked his hands through his hair and then, after a moment, forced himself to the telephone. His hand shook as he thought about calling. What would he say? He couldn’t just comment on the weather.
He picked up the receiver, listened for a dial tone, and started thumbing buttons. One ring. Two rings.
“Hello?” A woman’s voice greeted him.
Bastian opened his mouth to speak . He stared off into space as a silence held him prisoner. Angie.
“Hello?”
More silence. Bastian clenched his eyes shut as tears burned them.
“Bastian--is that you?” She asked. “Please say something.” He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but it refused to go. “Bastian?” she said again.
He unwound his fingers and hung up, staring at the receiver. He could still hear Angie’s voice. He leaned on the counter and pressed his fingers into the Formica, comforted by the fact that it didn’t give in to his pressure. At least some things were as solid as they seemed. He lowered his head and tried to forget what could not be forgotten.
“God, I miss her,” Bastian said softly.
“Who do you miss?”
Bastian whirled and found Kaylee standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. As she rested her head, her face was pale, as though she didn’t feel well. Her hands softly pressed on the doorway molding.
“Are you all right?” He stepped away from the phone, feeling a flush burning his cheeks.
“I’m fine.” Kaylee pointed to the phone. “Who do you miss?” She repeated.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Bastian shoved his hands in his pockets and paced around the room. The last thing he wanted to talk about was his family. The less said, the better.
“You were on the phone. After you hung up, you said, ‘I really miss her.’ Who in the hell are you talking about, and who were you calling? Maybe it’s not exactly my business, but if I’m holding you up from somewhere you’d rather be….” Kaylee folded her arms across her chest.
“It’s not what you think, Kaylee.” Bastian stopped walking and stared at her. If only his memory were as blank as the white plaster above. He wished he could go back and do things the right way, not the way he’d done them. Maybe his father hadn’t deserved more than Bastian had given him, but Angie, his sister, sure as hell had. He’d taken the coward’s way out without calling and letting her know she hadn’t been forgotten.
“How do you know what I think?” Kaylee brushed her hands up and down her arms, trying to ward away a sudden chill. As she stared ahead, she chewed her lower lip.
“I know what I’d think if I were you. It’s complicated.” Bastian faced her. Lines of frustration creased her forehead.
“Why is it so hard to talk to me? I just want to know what’s going on.” Kaylee went to the stove where her teapot sat. She filled it with water and turned on the burner underneath it.
“I was trying to call my sister, Angie. And I don’t like to talk about my family. I mean, even I don’t understand my life, so how can I expect anyone else to figure it out?” Bastian’s neck and back muscles tensed as Kaylee took out two mugs and tea bags and waited for the water to boil. He looked at the phone and remembered his sister’s voice calling his name.
Kaylee placed the tea bags in the mugs. “I take it she wasn’t there?”
“No, Angie was there. She answered the phone.” Bastian walked to the window. The landscape glowed with a blanket of snow, and thick flakes still tumbled from the heavens. He touched the frosted glass. Anything to take his mind off this conversation.
“But you didn’t talk to her.”
“I couldn’t.”
Chapter Eight
Long after Bastian had lain down with Kaylee, after they’d made love and nestled together, after enjoying the warmth of her body, Bastian yet found sleep refused to come. Kaylee’s head rested on his chest, and one leg twined with his beneath the thick covers. Bastian tilted his head and touched his lips softly to her forehead, taking in traces of her shampoo’s fragrance. Gardenias, he thought and smiled. Long strands caressed his lips like silk. Moonlight spilled into the room despite the frosted pane, and a swatch of it fell on Kaylee’s shoulder.
Despite the comfort of Kaylee’s body and the first clean bed in months, Bastian couldn’t relax, not with Angie’s voice in his head, steeped in the past. He couldn’t forget the way she’d said his name. She was the one part of his youth he could never leave behind. Fingering the cr
oss at his throat, he felt the gentle lines of Angie’s faith imprinting his flesh. The necklace had been her last gift to him, a belated birthday present she’d special-ordered. Closing his fingers around it, he held fast to the warm metal. Kaylee whimpered, stirring in her sleep, and Bastian drew her more tightly to him, kissing her forehead as she shivered.
“Shh,” he whispered. Her wispy bangs tickled his nose. “I’m here.” He kissed her earlobe, and her whole body tensed. “It’s all right, Kaylee.” he said, nuzzling his face against hers. With one hand, he massaged her neck and shoulder muscles, trying to ease the tautness.
Kaylee startled into wakefulness. Disorientedly, she started to climb out of bed.
Bastian asked, “Are you okay?”
“I…was dreaming.” She immediately stilled as if just
remembering he were there.
“More like a nightmare, I’d say.” He held his arms open, and she crawled back into them. Stroking her back, he felt her shudder. She laid one arm across his mid-section and drew as close as possible to him.
“Sorry. Would talking help?” Bastian kissed her forehead. A leak of cold air chilled his foot, and he shifted the blanket.
“I don’t think anything can help. It’s nothing, really.” She splayed her fingers across his abdomen and held fast. Laying her head on his chest, she heard the reassuring beat of his heart, the throbbing pulse of blood pumping through his body. Closing her eyes, she focused on it.
Bastian brushed his fingers through her hair. “What do you mean?”
“I sometimes dream I’m lying underneath a sheet of clear Plexiglas. I can see all these people walking around, but they don’t see me. It’s like I’m not even there.” Bastian felt her leg tighten around his. “Tonight I saw you standing there, but you didn’t see me. I screamed as loud as I could, but you walked away. Do you ever wonder what it’s like to be dead—what happens when we leave this world?”
“Sometimes.” An image of the gun flashed into his head, and he tried to blink it away, but it refused to leave. He could feel the weight of it in his palm, the cold steel biting into his skin. He could hear the safety click off as he lifted the barrel to his mouth and tasted the oily metal. His hand abruptly stopped stroking Kaylee as he thought about all those knife-edge moments, the ones that could have taken him out of the picture, away from thought and feeling away from his father, the crappy motel room, everything. All those times he’d been willing to throw his life away. Then he’d fallen in love with Kaylee only to discover....
“What do you think it means, anyway? I’ve been trying to understand why it had to happen now. Why not later—or even earlier?”
“I don’t know.” Bastian stared at her profile, at the soft curve of her nose, the supple arc of her neck—the long eyelashes that fluttered like butterfly wings. He tried to swallow a lump burning in his throat, but it refused to go down, and his voice faltered with emotion he couldn’t hide.
“What would you do if you were dying, Bastian?” She reached for his hand and brushed it against her cheek.
“I’d spend the time with you.” He closed his eyes and focused on the silk of her skin. “And I’d try to fix some of the problems I’ve left behind. Lord knows there are enough of them.”
“Like what?”
“Just things, Kaylee.” Bastian said through clenched teeth. He tried to relax but couldn’t.
“Your family?”
“I don’t want to talk about my family. What made you even ask about that?” Bastian sat up as an image of Angie’s face popped into his mind. He pulled on his jeans. A chill swept across his skin, and he grabbed his shirt from the floor next to his boots.
“You’re so adamant about telling my mother the truth, yet you refuse to reveal anything about your own family. Where are you going?” Kaylee propped herself up on her elbows.
“To get a snack.” It was a lie. The last thing he wanted was food, but this conversation stifled him. Still, he knew he couldn’t walk away.
“Maybe I am nagging you about your mother, but she deserves the right to know.” His fingers fumbled as he buttoned his shirt. He tried to tell himself it was simply the setting of the thermostat, but he could feel a deeper chill. He headed for the doorway. He tapped his fingers on the door molding.
“If you were me, would you tell your family?” Kaylee crawled out of bed, and Bastian was mesmerized by the curves of her naked body as she reached for her clothes. Moonlight shone on her breasts as she bent. Long strands of dark silk fluttered through the air.
“That’s different.”
“How? Because you’re not dying and I am?”
“No, because your mother actually cares what the hell happens to you.” Bastian clenched his jaw and shoved his hands in his pockets.
“You’ve heard forty seconds of my mother’s voice on tape, and you think you know? Yeah, she cares so much about me she spends most of the year in Europe. She knows more about the handicapped kids her charity sponsors than she does me.” Kaylee jerked her panties to her waist, glaring. She grabbed her jeans and jerked them on, leaning against the mirrored closet door to steady herself.
“You can’t do this alone, Kaylee,” Bastian said softly.
“I can if I have to.” Her face flushed as though he’d struck her. She bent, ignored her bra and with a trembling hand picked up her button-down shirt. She slipped one arm into a sleeve and then the other.
“God, that’s not what I meant. I want to be here, and you couldn’t get rid of me if you tried. But this is your mother. Don’t throw her away.” He raked his fingers through his hair.
“I’m not throwing her away. I’m just not telling her. You don’t know my mother.” Kaylee’s fingers threaded the buttons through the holes.
“I don’t have to. I know what it’s like to regret, to know that somewhere you have a family you’re not a part of anymore. Maybe I lost mine, but you still have yours. Don’t blow it.” Bastian walked to the window and rested his palms on the sill, leaning toward the night. For whatever it was worth, the snow had finally stopped.
“I’m not blowing anything. I’m trying to make it easier on her. No mess to clean up. No fuss.” Kaylee tried to brush the hair from her face.
“So that’s it?” Bastian’s shoulders stiffened, and he shook his head. “One day you’re breathing and the next you’re not?” His eyebrows furrowed as he frowned. “It’ll be easier on them, right? Like hell. This isn’t a choice you have the right to make. You can’t choose whether somebody loves you. Maybe your mother won’t want the damned mess, as you put it. But at least give her the choice.”
“You want to know why I don’t lock the door?” she snapped. “I’ll tell you. My mother taught me how to appreciate things but never taught me how to appreciate people, especially my family. My father left when I was little, and my mother might as well have for all the time we spent together as I grew up. I used to love this house, but now, it’s just a house, an empty shell without a soul—cold, dead and silent. I keep hoping that if somebody comes in and takes all this junk, maybe my damned fairy godmother will give me a real mother in exchange. I’d give anything to have her here for more than six months at a time. But I don’t want it to be because she’s just found out her daughter is dying. It’s not politically correct to leave someone alone to die, as if living alone is so much better. I’d be just another poster child for her cause. No, I want her to come because she’s found something in me, something only I can give, something personal. Whatever that is. God, it has to be in there somewhere, doesn’t it?”
Kaylee sat on the bed and held her head in her hands. Each breath ached. She began rocking back and forth as her fingers tangled in the hair that fell into her face. For once, Kaylee didn’t brush the long bangs away. Instead, she hid behind them.
Bastian drew away from the sill and watched Kaylee before crossing the room and sitting on the bed behind her. He laid his hands on her shoulders and began massaging her back. He peered around the bedroom
at the beautiful Degas print on the wall and at the conservative floral arrangement poised in a bronze vase on the dresser.
“It’s just you in there, Kaylee. That’s what’s special. You’re right. This is a beautiful house, but a million houses like this couldn’t replace you. Even if I spend the rest of my nights sleeping in my truck, I’m a wealthy man. You’ve made me rich, Kaylee, in a way money never could.” He leaned close and laid his head on her back, between her shoulder blades, and wrapped his arms around her.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Kaylee whispered as she gripped his hand.
“Me, too.”
For long moments, they sat in that same position, slowly rocking back and forth, neither speaking, both knowing that some silences were best left unbroken. In the winter stillness, they clung to each other, gleaning warmth, joined in seamless unity. At last, Bastian felt Kaylee’s chest and shoulders slowly begin to relax as sleep overtook her. Slipping his hands from her abdomen to her shoulders, he laid her back on the mattress and swung her legs over the edge. He thought about shifting her to a different position but hesitated, not wanting to wake her. Instead, he reached for her pillow and slipped it under her head. She stirred but didn’t wake, and when she was still once more, he reached for the comforter and draped it over her.
Kneeling over her, Bastian picked up her hand from where it had dangled off the side of the mattress and laid it atop her abdomen.
“Sweet dreams, my lady.”
Bastian slipped down the hall and crept into the kitchen, finding the bag of shards he’d collected from the vase she’d dropped.
When Angels Cry Page 9
